


Jeeves and the Mysterious Laughter

by Mice



Category: Jeeves & Wooster
Genre: Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-06
Updated: 2011-12-06
Packaged: 2017-10-27 00:15:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/289453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mice/pseuds/Mice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bertie finds out what makes Jeeves laugh. There is snogging.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jeeves and the Mysterious Laughter

**Author's Note:**

> For the IndeedSir exchange, with the prompt: A laughing Jeeves is too sexy for Bertie to not kiss. So what makes Jeeves laugh?

Jeeves, as most know, is a chap whose dial tends toward the glacial. I have described him as being a bit of a stuffed frog or a particularly solemn moose from time to time. Friends have occasionally wondered if he isn't actually carved of marble or some similarly motionless substance. Granite, perhaps, or a more than usually immobile species of oak. The one time I'd seen him off on his own, having a good time, was when he'd accepted the challenge of gathering material for my old chum Rockmetteller 'Rocky' Todd, to send to said chum's aunt, so he could get an allowance from her. Rocky, I mean. Jeeves didn't need an allowance from Rocky's aunt, after all. I recall describing Jeeves as looking 'almost human,' with a smile that rose nearly a quarter of an inch on one side.

All this is to say that Jeeves is not generally a cheerful chap. He has his moments, of course, where there is a slight simmer of something beneath the surface that bubbles up into a semi-detectable quirk of the lip, but I've been told I'm hallucinating, or that it was merely a trick of the light. I seem to be the only one able to detect said quirk, I mean to say.

Having had this bit of a setup, you might understand just how shocked I was at the sight of Jeeves laughing. It was rather like being coshed sharply behind the ear with a cricket bat. Jeeves does not laugh. Nor does he chuckle, chortle, cackle, guffaw, giggle, or titter. Nary a tee-hee passes his lips, not even under the most severe provocation of things like one of the Drones recounting his various and sundry adventures.

I had taken to writing down a few of mine, you see. Adventures, I mean. My adventures. And Jeeves's of course, since he is usually quite at the center of them. Knowing him to be a solid chap, and one for the literary arts -- he feeds his brain on Spinoza and unpronounceable Russians -- I asked him to give the old second draft a once-over for absolute howlers, to keep Bertram from looking the ass when I sent it off to a publisher.

He'd given me a firm "Very good, sir," and biffed off into the kitchen to mangle a few pages with his red pencil and I had tucked myself into a cozy chair in the sunlight with a spine-tingler so as not to be overcome with worry re said ms. being in Jeeves's editorial hands. As predicted, my spine was suitably tingled, with the opening pages introducing our hero and our devilishly and rather gruesomely murdered dead body. It was at this point, with tingling breaking out in all regions of the Wooster vertebrae, that I heard a most unusual sound from kitchenward.

I paused for a moment, listening. The m. u. s. had vanished, so I tucked my nose back between the pages. It wasn't long before I heard it again, pulling myself away from my book to listen. Once again, the sound quieted, and I was left wondering if perhaps I'd got something in one of my ears. A quick poke ruled that out, but when I pulled my finger back out of my e., I heard what sounded distinctly like... laughter. Coming from the kitchen. Where Jeeves was.

Startled, I bolted to my feet, wondering if our kitchen had been invaded by chortling miscreants. Cautious, because chortling miscreants might be dangerous, I made my stealthy way to the kitchen door and opened it a touch so that I could poke an eye around it. Jeeves might need assistance with said c. m.s, after all, and it wouldn't do to just go biffing in with a cheery 'what ho' and let them get the drop on me, so to speak. Their laughter might be cover for all manner of nefarious deeds, and I didn't like the idea of Jeeves at their mercy.

The sight that met the Wooster e., however, was far more startling than any manner of chortling miscreant could hope to be.

Jeeves sat at the kitchen table, my manuscript in front of him, giggling. I mean to say, Jeeves, giggling! With a smile on his face and his eyes atwinkle! I know for a fact I hadn't imbibed anything intended to get me even the slightest bit squiffed, as it wasn't even luncheon yet. One doesn't have a snootfull in the ack emma unless aunts are about. Any sensible chap would require fortification under those circs.

"Jeeves!" I said, rather overcome.

He collected himself with visible effort, the delightful smile on his map vanishing along with the mirth as he looked up at me. "Yes, sir?"

I blinked. "You were laughing."

"I am sorry, sir. I shall attempt to contain myself if it is disturbing you."

I advanced into the kitchen, ankling over to where he sat. "I -- No, please. You don't need to stop." I think I sounded overcome.

"Sir?" Jeeves gave me a puzzled look, one eyebrow raising a molecule or two.

I leaned down a bit, to see what scene he was reading that might have caused his startling outbreak of merriment. This left me dangling over his shoulder, quite close to the damask Jeevesian cheek. "I've never heard you laugh, old thing. I mean to say, I don't think I ever recall even seeing you smile." I was awfully conscious of being so close to the chap. I had always considered him a pippin of the first water, but one doesn't get close to chaps who don't smile or laugh. One certainly doesn't contemplate pressing one's lips to said d. Jeevesian cheek. Or his lips. "I really quite liked it." By 'quite liked it,' I actually meant 'found it irresistible,' but it isn't the sort of thing one says to one's valet.

He gave me a chary look that quickly turned contemplative. We were, in fact, nose to nose at that point. "I see, sir," he said, his voice going all husky and causing far more interesting tingles along the Wooster spine than my thriller had.

"I wouldn't mind seeing it again," I noted, going for nonchalant and hitting breathless instead.

His eyes went all sultry and he grinned at me. "I see, sir." I mean to say, grinning? Jeeves? And rather wickedly, at that, I might add. I gave a slight but manly squeak at the sight and he laughed again.

That was the frozen limit. This Wooster could stand no more provocation. It was too much to bear, this sultry grinning and laughing wheeze. I brashly applied my lips to his, hoping I'd not be found momentarily upon the floor, Jeeves's fist having been applied to my nose.

What caught me entirely by surprise was his hearty return of the labial press, upping the ante with an insertion of his tongue into my mouth.

Several minutes later, breathless, I offered an astonished, "I say!"

Equally breathless, he rose and wrapped his arms about me, regarding me with a look set to simmer. "I endeavor to give satisfaction, sir."

And he bally well did.

~~fin~~


End file.
